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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29580141">Sweet Child (Of Mine)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarosya/pseuds/Tarosya'>Tarosya</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Explicit Language, Fix-It, Gen, One-Sided Attraction, POV First Person, Self-Insert, Smoking, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:53:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29580141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarosya/pseuds/Tarosya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if that day, Ian ventured to experiment with a woman he would have met in the train not a leopard tank chick, but someone else?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caleb/Ian Gallagher (mentioned), Ian Gallagher &amp; Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Child (Of Mine)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28429605">Малыш, ты меня волнуешь</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarosya/pseuds/Tarosya">Tarosya</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fanfic has nothing in common with "Party Boys Don't Get Hurt." Ian met Tanya at a different time and under different circumstances. But, the reader can see the “Sliding Doors” effect between the two stories.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <em>
    <span>He's got a smile that it seems to me<br/>
Reminds me of childhood memories<br/>
Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky<br/>
Now and then when I see his face</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>He takes me away to that special place<br/>
And if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry<br/>
Whoa, oh, oh, sweet child of mine<br/>
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, sweet child of mine</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>He's got eyes of the bluest skies<br/>
As if they thought of rain<br/>
I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>His hair reminds me of a warm, safe place<br/>
Where as a child I'd hide<br/>
And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Whoa, oh, oh, sweet child of mine<br/>
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, sweet child of mine</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Where do we go?<br/>
Where do we go now? (c) </em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He didn't seem to recognize me. He raised his eyes and looked away for several minutes, as soon as he sat opposite me on a side bench in the train. Or maybe he was embarrassed by my pink miniature fan, which I bought from an old Chinese man for two dollars? It was rather a stupid thing, but it saved from the stifling heat that had dominated the streets of Chicago for several days. </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Even so, I recognized this red-headed </span>
  <span>EMT</span>
  <span> immediately, although without his uniform, just with a T-shirt, he looked younger.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I never paid attention to the years of my life that had gone by. My life was so planned, and every day was like the others, so it was easy to forget about time. But my interest in this young guy reminded me about my age: a middle-aged lady who fell in love with a boy really was an anecdote! Maybe "fell in love" was a bit too strong, however, as soon as he entered our emergency room, my spirits immediately rose. I approached him right away with questions, to figure out if his case required the attention of a social worker. He remained a little wary, not understanding what I wanted from him. I did not understand it myself; I just wanted to stand next to him, look at him furtively, and listen to his deep voice, too masculine for his age. But I asked dry questions like, what are his impressions about the patient's home or about the patient's accompanying relative’s behave on the way to the hospital? He answered thoughtfully, sometimes making eloquent comparisons. I tried to dilute his seriousness with hospital humor, the best remedy for professional burnout, but only a few times was I able to make him smile. </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Although I remembered his name was Ian Gallagher, I secretly called him Sunny. As soon as he passed the door, our old emergency room, in need of renovations, seemed brighter to me. And I felt the notorious butterfly tickling its wings in my stomach, just like in my teenage years.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>When Ian looked up at me again, I caught his sight and greeted him. He replied by throwing me a "Hello," then smiled and nodded at the fan. I couldn't think of anything better to do than reach out through the passage, directing the fan towards it. The cool air certainly did not reach him, but it made him smile wider. The passenger hurrying to the exit made me pull my hand away, but as soon as he cleared the passage, Ian moved, plopping down on the seat next to me. He held my wrist, took the fan from my palm, and pointed it at his face:</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Not bad…”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>His red locks got damp with sweat and were beginning to curl. And now, with the fan hitting his face, they were slightly stirring from the flow of air. I looked at them and tried not to miss the phantom sensation of his fingers on my wrist.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>How's your day going?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian didn't answer. Instead, he just winced slightly. So, I decided his day was as bad as mine. EMTs got on hot shifts right now. In addition to the regular stuff, from appendicitis to gunshot wounds, there were lots of heatstrokes and dehydration cases these days. The hospital's work was also more stressful than usual, and the injured old people and children already demanded my professional attention.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>After a few moments of silence, I took a bottle of water from my bag and handed it to Ian, exchanging it for the fan. Before heading home, I filled a bottle with ice-cold water at the hospital, but by now, it was barely cool. </span>
  <span>I</span>
  <span> h</span>
  <span>e</span>
  <span>ld up a fingers to have him wait while I fumbled in my bag for a straw. But Ian </span>
  <span>seemed to be too thirsty</span>
  <span>, so without waiting, he unscrewed the cap and drank half of the bottle in two long sips. When I brought the bottle to my mouth after him, I felt the bottleneck still warm from his lips.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I was ready to ride in this shaking, old train for ages, sitting next to Ian, but it was already approaching my station. Soon, I got up, wishing him well for the rest of the day, and moved toward the door. Ian started to follow me, but then sat back down and waved me goodbye.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Seconds later, Ian caught up to me at the exit of the station.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Can</span><span> I walk with you?” he asked, perplexedly looking somewhere over my right shoulder.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Something wrong happened, didn’t it?” My question was drowned in the roar of the departing train. As he hardly heard the question, Ian nodded uncertainly.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>There were many rumors about Ian and the Gallagher family at the hospital. The elderly nurse from the emergency room, Maria, remembered how Ian’s elder sister dragged him with a fever one night. She was barely old enough to go to school then, and Ian was still a toddler, yet, they got alone to the emergency room, without parents. The Gallagher family members were frequent guests of our hospital: the younger ones got hurt in accidents that occurred without proper parent care, and the older ones overdosed. One of the worst cases in our hospital was Ian's younger brother, who ended up in intensive care either after swallowing or sniffing their oldest sister's drugs.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Considering his family's antecedents, Ian rushing to catch up to a social worker he had just met by chance meant he needed to talk about something important. And I was glad to help him. I wanted to make friends with him. I could not wish for more, even if I were young and beautiful. This was exactly what Gloria — our secretary from the registry — was. She flirted with him recklessly until she realized that he only liked to play with those who had the same Lego parts as him.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian put his hands in his pockets, and walked next to me along the busy, noisy streets, flopping small litter with the tips of his Converse. A couple of times, I tried to ask in different ways what had happened to him, but the human hubbub and rumbling of cars interfered with the conversation.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>When I reached the cafe across from my house, I invited Ian to come in. There was air conditioning inside and the food was not bad. It could be nice to have a snack after work, and for a conversation, this place seemed good. But Ian refused:</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Can</span><span> we just go to your place right now?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>It seemed like it was really serious. Life was a bitch, and did not spare this poor boy. I knew firsthand what life in slums was. I grew up in Odessa's </span>
  <span>crime</span>
  <span> area — not the one in Texas, the one in ex-USSR — and went to school with a knife. One of my former school friends was a tradeswoman in the market now, and another one became a prostitute in the same market. I had to emigrate twice to run away from this shit. It was good to think that Ian was also able to escape in some way, having a respected profession and job.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Cool! You have an air conditioner, don’t you?!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>As soon as we entered my apartment, I turned it on. Unbelievably, once, I regretted that I agreed to overpay for this studio with air conditioning, following my long-standing Israeli habit.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I'm starving!” I threw my ballet flats off and walked barefoot to the kitchen counter. “I'll make us a couple of sandwiches, and then we'll talk. You may sit down for now.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I poured out the remnants of morning coffee from my coffee mug, rinsed it hastily, and poured water from the tap in it.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Do you want to drink? There </span><span>are</span><span> a cold </span><span>water </span><span>and juice</span><span> in the fridge.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Do you have a beer?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I should. Take whichever you like.” </span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>There were several bottles of different colors in the refrigerator's door. Ian, without looking at the brands, took the one with the ring on the lid.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He stood at the corner of the kitchen counter, taking a step back toward the front door as if he was gathering the courage to start an important conversation. But instead, he sipped his beer, and without saying anything, darted his eyes around my modest interior.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>You can sit on the couch. That is where the air conditioner is, it feels better over there.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Where's the bathroom?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>That door.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I was busy getting bread and cheese and slicing vegetables when Ian quietly came up from behind. Too close.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Do you want to help me?” I asked to break the silence.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The next moment, he hugged my shoulders and kissed my neck. I looked down and saw his freckled fingers squeeze my forearms. His lips were warm, moist, and surprisingly soft. At that moment, I wanted to press my back against his chest so bad and kept feeling how the touch of his lips’ trembled throughout all my body. But Ian's passion made him look like he was a </span>
  <span>bad</span>
  <span> actor staring in a second-rate theater. </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Wait...” I turned to face him. He managed to take off his shirt. Now, I was watching his freckles run from his neck down his dimple, between the collarbones, and tangled in the fine red hairs on his chest. I forced myself to raise my eyes and looked at his face. That is when I saw how tense he was. He wrinkled his forehead, becoming older all of a sudden.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Suddenly, as if changing masks, he smiled, slightly pursing his lips, and touched my short hair, stiff from the styling wax, with his open palm.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I like it! Is this your real hair color?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I called my hairstyle "gray girly haircut." The gray hair was not real, but the pearl blond paint was chosen precisely to hide the real gray hair claiming its rights.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>What's going on, </span><strong><span><span>pal</span></span></strong><span>?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He'd better move away. His light red eyelashes seemed transparent, and therefore incredibly touching. He even had freckles on his eyelids.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I thought you wanted... You did want to!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>But you...” I said, addressing his muscular shoulder covered with freckles, “You don’t want to…”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>You invited me to your place!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He took a step back, folded his arms over his chest. No need to be a great psychologist to understand what this gesture means.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I thought you needed to talk!” Maybe I should remind him that he invited himself. All this situation seemed to be some kind of evil prank. Or a bad, stupid bet.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>To talk?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Well, yes... You looked so gloomy... I thought something bad had happened and you needed to talk.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>To talk with you?!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>His surprised question made me overwhelmed with the understanding that Ian simply did not recognize me.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>You didn't recognize me, did you? Ian?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>And as soon as I said his name, he realized who I was. Instantly, his face looked like it turned into stone. I had already seen such an expression on him once when he realized that a young patient with an overdose whom he tried to resuscitate in an ambulance on the way to the hospital could not be saved by the doctors.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Fuck…” Ian whispered just with his lips, running his open palm from the top of his head to the back, making me pay attention to how large the bone on his wrist was.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>And instantly, he rushed to the exit in one leap. Halfway through the door, he apparently remembered his T-shirt, rushed to the sofa to grab it, and ran back to the door, trying to open the bolt with his free hand.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Ian?” It was crystal clear to me that if Ian left now, we would not be able to work normally and communicate smoothly, nor even </span><em><span><span>stare into each other's eyes. </span></span></em><span>“Ian!” </span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He stopped fighting the valve and turned around. He was breathing heavily, like he was running a sprint, gazing with wide eyes. Only it was not a deer in the headlights, but a small animal caught in a trap, ready to bite and scratch.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Can you still stay to have a snack?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian vaguely shook his head. He wanted to refuse and to agree at the same time, but said:</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Okay…”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>***</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>He’s screwed that chick!” After taking a huge bite of his sandwich, Ian continued to speak with a full mouth. “He admitted!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Maybe you can finish your sandwich first?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I didn't have a dinner table and usually ate at a coffee table or took a plate to the computer table. And now, I was glad to sit next to Ian on the sofa. It saved me a little from constantly staring at him.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>He putted</span> <span>his dick into her vag! Oh, damn...”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Yes, </span><span>I</span> <span>get the</span><span> idea.... Chew to the end, I beg you.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>And if not, so what? You gonna beat me with a hammer if I don’t?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He was even almost calm. But his barely trembling voice had me guess he was ready to burst, like a boiling cauldron with a lid under pressure.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I have no idea what this is about…”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>You, Russians, always have a hammer…”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Then I'm a fake Russian! I don't like buckwheat, I don't drink vodka...”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Even vodka with soda?” Ian smiled for the first time of this strange evening, just like he smiled to his patients, handing them over to the doctors’ hands in the emergency room.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>No... And I have no hammer!” It seemed unnecessary to me to explain to him that I am a Ukrainian who has lived in Israel for many years. “Is this your usual American stereotypical trick?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>S</span><span>orry... I just... My ex-boyfriend’s wife was Russian. Frightening bitch, actually! She threatened to smash my head with a hammer!” </span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Shit! I really don't have a hammer, so don't be afraid. And... I am very, very sorry, of course, but maybe you should try seeing guys who do not have complicated relationships with women, shouldn't you?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian laughed. Actually, he cracked up so hard I was afraid he would choke. But Ian knew how to walk with his laces untied and not fall, or speak and laugh with a full mouth and not gag.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Am I right? You are upset not only because of his betrayal, but also because </span><span>he did it with</span><span> a woman?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Yeah, I just wish she had a dick. Caleb says if it were a guy, then he’d be cheating...” he paused. “He kind of hinted I am </span><span>less worldly</span><span>... Inexperienced vagina-fucker!” </span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He forced himself to laugh.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>And what if he had told you, sometime before, that he had sex with a woman once and liked it? How would you have reacted?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I had a girlfriend! Just the same as his Denise, who was just a cover. At least at first. But I never have... Because I'm 100% gay!” </span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>So, what are you doing here, right now? Do you want to get your revenge from him by sleeping with a woman because you are mad at him?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Is this some kind of shrink session?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>No, shrink sessions, as you say, cost money! And I treat you with beer and sandwiches. We're just talking.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian took a sip of beer, stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, and leaned back on the back of the sofa.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Wait, I still have some cool chips!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I went to the kitchen cupboards and pulled out a large bag of chips from the top shelf. Our conversation needed a break before Ian started to boil again.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Oh, they look so fancy!” Ian shoved his hand into the deep plate I had poured the chips in. “Shouldn't they be expensive?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I buy them from an organic store. Well, they are not such a junk!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>What is that, sweet potato?” He said as he was crunching an orange savory slice.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I don’t know.” I took another chip that looked like a banana from the plate. “This one is the most delicious one! It </span><span>looks</span><span> like a banana, but this is some other kind of exotic thing.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian reached for the chip I was still holding between my fingers.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>No, no, no! This one is mine! Get yourself another one!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian pointedly pushed the plate towards him and began to rummage in search of the same similar-to-banana chips.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Back to our conversation.” I took a sip of my beer and washed it down with salty chips. “You decided to experiment with a woman. Why now, Ian? For what? Do you want to prove that Caleb was wrong? Or was he right? What do you want to get? Will it help you make a decision?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I don’t know! </span><span>Haven’t decided yet...</span><span> He was </span><span>my</span><span> first </span><span>real</span><span> date…” </span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Oh...”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>No! I had a relationship before. You know, boyfriend, love, all this stuff... I had been with many guys, actually, and older dudes too... But he </span><span>took</span><span> me on a real date, restaurant</span><span> and</span><span> wine and shit... </span><span>And</span><span> his family event... He helped me study…” </span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>But he hurt you,” I didn't ask, and Ian didn't answer. “He did not just cheat on you; he made you doubt yourself, who you are. But your relationship is important to you, so you want to find out whether he is right? So what, after? You two will be together, and sometimes both of you will have sex with women?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I don’t know… Maybe… Bad idea do you think?” Ian stood up. “Fuck! I am dying for a smoke! Can I smoke here?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Sure.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Smoking indoors was a pretty bad idea, but it still was best to let Ian smoke.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Let’s just open the window.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I got up, but Ian got ahead of me.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I can open it!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian took a cigarette out from a pretty wrinkled pack in his jeans pocket, nipped it in his mouth, and patted his pockets, looking for a lighter. His lips were not manlike at all; they were beautifully contoured and as bright as if he had smeared them with gloss.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Take the matches from the stove,” Ian raised his thumb in response.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I gathered the empty plates from the table to take them to the kitchen counter, along with the bottles of unfinished beer.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>It doesn't matter what I think, Ian. It is important what you think...”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Oh, fuck! You sound like him!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>See, he is not a complete idiot!!” Ian chuckled while blowing out smoke. He was not holding the cigarette with his fingertips but between his knuckles. “I'll tell you what I see. You feel completely out of control. Something bad happened, your boyfriend cheated on you, and it made you doubt him, doubt your couple, and most importantly, doubt yourself. You are looking for a way out of this situation, you want to regain control. And if you think that for this you need to experiment with a woman, then this is what you need…”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>So, maybe then...?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Although Ian was standing against the sunlight, by the window, I could still swear that I saw him wink. And before I had time to think and doubt, I shook my head.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>First of all, to have sex, you know, in an active position, you need a certain amount of lust…” I made a picture-silly gesture in the air with my hand to match the pretentious expression I chose.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>After hesitating for a couple of seconds, thinking about what I was talking about, Ian blurted out:</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Uh! You think I </span><span>am not gonna</span><span> get </span><span>a boner</span><span>, don’t you? I'll show you!”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Imagination did not fail to toss me a picture of Ian reaching for and grabbing my palm, and putting it on his fly. And I completely, unreasonably folded my arms over my chest. It was good and I didn’t blush, but I wanted to hint to Ian his body might refuse to obey. If that happened, he could get really lousy.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I am into you,” I said slowly. “And I would sell my soul to the devil... I am not sure you realize how lovable you are.” Ian turned away as if the most important thing now was to throw the butt of his burnt cigarette through the window. “But look at you! You are a scrambled mess. What kind of person would I be if I took advantage of someone like this?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Unrequited love definitely may become a heavy burden, and it was selfish to load it on Ian. But somehow, it was so damn important for me to tell him that rejection wasn’t easy for me.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>But someone else will </span><span>take</span><span> it...”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian unknowingly threw me this seductive trick. If someone was to use his messed-self, then let it be me. But this was what bothered me, intuitively. The last thing I wanted was to become Ian’s bad memory. However, now, he would remember me as an elderly, pretentious fool. Did I really expect his gratitude for my wretched nobility? The question is, who regretted whom at all? Ian leaned over the sink, took a handful of water, and splashed it on his face.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>Nobody t</span><span>ake</span><span> advantage of anyone if it is not such an impulsive, but a balanced decision…”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>So, should I come over tomorrow?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian definitely knew how to joke! And the fact he said it quite seriously really amused me. I laughed too loudly.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>This is the best compliment, baby! But you’re here precisely because of your very impulsive decision. Therewith, we will meet more than once in the hospital, so I would like not to burn with shame...” It was my last argument.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>It’s already fucking inconvenient now …”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I had no doubts anyway, but Ian prompted me the final answer.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>What now? You were upset, you met a friend from work on the train,” I curled my fingers one by one. “You went to her place for a beer, you talked... That's it! Hope it helped a little?”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I</span><span>t did.” Ian pushed himself off the kitchen counter he was leaning on and headed toward the door. “I should probably go.”</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Well, he didn’t get what he came for, but instead, I listened to everything he was ready to tell and he got advice, no matter if they came in handy or not. He didn't need to stay any longer, no matter how much I wanted him to stay.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I took a step forward and stretched my arm and hand to Ian to say goodbye. He wiped his own on his jeans, shedding any remaining water droplets, and handed it out in return. And as I took his hand in mine, I raised it to my lips and kissed his sharp knuckles, probably smashed many times in the past.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I expected Ian to jerk his hand back in disgust or laugh at me. But instead, he spread his arms out to the sides, offering to hug me, like if I was a long-time acquaintance.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian grasped me with one hand around the neck and drew me to him, wrapping his other hand around my wide waist. His palm above my lower back was so pleasantly hot. I wrapped my arms around his torso, felt his ribs under the warm skin and elastic muscles through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Ian had a dry, sweet smell with a hint of caramel, which even a fair amount of beer and cigarette smoke could not hide.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>I wanting to prolong this moment and was in no hurry to let him go, and Ian did not break his embrace. On the contrary, he pressed closer, and, bowing his head, buried his face in my neck, exhaling hotly. I felt him flinch slightly and heard a soft sob.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p>
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